Black and White Sunday - The Chase

Belated Throwback

Yesterday, we all enjoyed the girls' first Thanksgiving by gathering at my parents' house. Although the girls had to stay outside when the family was over (my mom is fond of southwest-style decorating... all those cow hides wouldn't have stood a chance), they did very well staying relatively mellow about all of the visitors. They were even brave enough to let my young nephew touch them, although not for longer than a few seconds.

So, sort of progress.

In more measurable progress, we've had the girls for almost 6 weeks now. Although it's been touch-and-go, especially with Zelda, they've bounced back from their rough start in a big way. We'll have their weights done tomorrow (for the umpteenth time... I've honestly lost count...), and although they're still skinnier than I would like, we're getting there.

I'm very thankful that my ladies lived to see the holiday. We're looking forward to Christmas now...

Black and White Sunday

Firsts

Many years ago, I read a blog by a man writing about his experiences with his first child. I don't remember the name of the blog, or anything about it, really, except for one line that I read that apparently lodged in my brain and waited there for the day I would discover wolfdogs. First with Bast and now with the girls, I keep thinking about that bit of wisdom, and although I don't remember the exact wording, the essence of it was:

"I never understood the true meaning of terror until I fell in love with something that thinks staples are food."

I'll give you three guesses who put the chew marks on that brush. Hint: it wasn't me.

Whenever Bast and the girls are out of my sight, I carry around a low-grade level of subconscious fear. It isn't debilitating, but it does affect my life in small ways - my social life certainly suffers, and any time my eyes get distant or my attention wanders, it's probably wandering to my back yard, and I'm praying to whatever god will listen that all 3 of my dogs will be present and intact when I arrive.

I've never had any cause to doubt that they would be - Bast isn't an escape artist and the closest the girls have come to that is when Zelda gave me a heart attack by hiding behind the washer last weekend when the electrician came by; I'll be glad when they're fat enough that their potential hiding places are reduced.

But you can't tell a phobia to knock it off, and every day when I come in my front door, I sling whatever I'm carrying to the floor, rush to the back door with my arms outstretched, and make grabby motions with my hands until there are 3 little bodies wriggling against my palms.

It's therapeutic bliss for everyone involved.

While having a rescue animal (or 3) is often heart-breaking and exhausting, they pay you back in spades with love and delight. Like a lot of the country, this weekend we had a cold front that brought the girls their first ever experience with snow. Although our snowfall was pitiful - I think we got like, maybe half an inch - the girls were amazed and after performing their standard Starvin' Marvin inspection - "Can I eat this?" - they had a great time playing with Bast in the flurries.

Lovely Zelda sporting a snow nose

Big stretches for a little Midna

We're finally filling out and able to walk upright

Bastas telling Midna a lame joke

Lovely Midna and her own snow nose

Midna

Checking out the den

Bastas and Midna

Beautiful Zelda with her Cleopatra eyes

The Minister of Silly Walks

To end with another appropriate quote, I'm going to branch out of my usual musical tastes and cite some Moby here. I hope you'll forgive me.

I would stand in line for this. There's always room in life for this.

Black and White Sunday

Continuing our lives of chaos, yesterday we rounded up The Littles and headed to the vet for their weekly weight check, Midna's last round of shots, and a possible UTI on Zelda. Upon arriving and doing an exam of Zelda's UTI, the vet became concerned about pyometra - a uterine infection that happens in female dogs and is usually fatal if left untreated.

We had her taken back for x-rays to look for any signs of pyometra, while my best friend Cait and I chewed our nails and Midna flopped on the ground without a care in the world.

I tried doing this one in B&W and it looks really grim. We're going to break the rules a bit and leave it in color.

Luckily, Zelda showed no signs of pyometra, and we scampered home with another dose of Clavamox for a simple UTI.

The vet wants to have them spayed in about a month - something I don't feel entirely comfortable doing. The girls would be around 8 months by then, but with all of the other things going on with their health - the lack of nutrition, the delayed growth, the bizarre bone formation in their feet - I really don't want to spay them so soon. I'd prefer to wait a while and get closer to their first heat, but at the same time, I don't want them to go into heat and possibly have issues with hormonal aggression towards one another because of the presence of Bast.

I'd love to hear other peoples' thoughts on this, if you have an opinion on spaying. In general, spaying or neutering wolfdogs early is frowned upon because they do not reach maturity until around 2 years of age. I don't want to wait that long for the girls, but I'm not comfortable with 8 months. Any thoughts on this?

Mischief Managed

I know we've been focused on the girls a lot for the past few posts - think of the puppy-centrism as way for you to peer into my life, because a lot of my real life focus is on the girls, too. It's really sad that now, of all the neurotic wolfdogs in my house, Bast is the well-behaved one.

If you're wondering where this nation-wide cold front came from, it's because Hell just froze over.

Bastas, the good dog? My standards can sink no lower.

Part of it has to do with sheer number - the girls are literally double the trouble. They also have zero manners and routinely mess in the house, bite me, destroy things, and steal anything that even remotely seems edible.

Don't be fooled by their ovary-melting cuteness. Those are demons asleep on my couch.

As the girls gain strength and energy, they've become more active and can now play with Bast, much to his delight. Any time I step outside and call them all to me, every neck that pushes into my hands for scritchies is coated in a thin layer of slobber.

Three's company, too.

Despite being worn out playing Uncle to the girls, Bast somehow still finds the energy to sabotage me on the regular. With autumn firmly in place and winter peeking around the corner here, my winter boots became the object of desire, and Bastas the Amazing Klepto waited for a lapse in vigilance to steal them.

Unfortunately for me, I was not home at the time of the theft. My best friend, who was watching the crew for me overnight, let me know he had pilfered my kicks but that she was able to retrieve them before any damage was done. They only suffered the indignity of being buried.

Preparing to face the cold this morning, I dug out my boots from their hiding place in the closet and pulled them on, only to have the shit scared out of me as my foot touched something that was decidedly not-boot. I up-ended the shoe...

Damnit, Bast.

Black and White Sunday - All The Gang

Midna

Bastas

Zelda

Transformation Tuesday?

If I needed a reminder that I'm not exactly "with it" these days, it's every time I log onto Facebook and see some new hashtag trend.

I remember #throwbackthursday, that one's easy, and you guys here keep me up to speed on Black and White Sundays, but I was informed that today is Transformation Tuesday and I should be posting pictures of weight loss or my sweet gains.

Or something. I don't know; I haven't set foot in a gym since my mom enrolled me in Organized Drowning classes at the YMCA when I was 4.

We do, however have two very dramatic transformations to share with everyone. It's been 17 days since we picked up Zelda and Midna (to whom we refer affectionately as The Littles) and they have made some radical changes. Although they're still skinny enough that I avoid taking them out in public in case someone thinks I'm starving them and kicks my ass, they're looking miles better than when we first got them.

Here's Zelda, whose floppy ears are finally starting to stand more often than they wilt:

And her littler sister Midna, who's getting some seriously chubby cheeks:

Now that Zelda's ears are standing, it's much harder to tell them apart. I'm constantly shouting variations of, "ZELD- NO, MIDNA - NO WAIT, THAT IS ZELDA - PUT THAT DOWN, THAT'S NOT FOOD!"

I swear these are two different dogs...

They reminded me of something that was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't figure out....

Then Halloween rolled around and it hit me:

Trick or treat, y'all.

Black and White Sunday - Midna Edition

I always have a lot of people tell me how much they want a wolfdog after seeing Bastas, and more recently, after seeing the girls. Although I get why - I'd be full of crap if I didn't agree that my dogs look really freakin' cool - we joke a lot that their beauty is really their only redeeming quality. If Bast weren't so cute, I'd have probably sold him to gypsies or eaten him in a stew by now. The girls would make good side dishes or maybe some warm fuzzy gloves.

Let me take you through my Sunday morning thus far, and you can decide if you'd like to try on my pants for a while.

Somewhere around 1:00 AM, Zelda woke me by punching me in the face. She does this at least twice a night. Sometimes, she and Midna will both come punch me in the face to alert me to the fact that they've peed somewhere, so I wake up with a giant woofer paw slamming into my lips, as if imparting by telepathy that I now have to find the puddle of pee that's lurking in my home somewhere.

I shooed the girls away, but around 3:00 AM, Zelda punched me awake again, so I decided it was time for the girls to go outside and have a camp out. I hustled everyone out the back door - glancing around for the pee I hadn't found yet - and went back to bed.

An hour after that, around 4:00 AM, Bastas awoke me with the song of his people, soulfully answering the call of a passing ambulance siren. I went out on the porch in my jammies and bare feet to shush him.

5:00 AM repeat Song of my People. The radio stations in my backyard need to get some new tunes.

By 9:00, I was as rested as I was going to get and let the herd of elephants back in the house. The girls have enormous, snow shovel-like feet and none of their inherent wolfdog grace yet, so their approach is thunderous.

I separate everyone for breakfast - Zelda in the crate, because she's the most aggressive, Midna in the kitchen, and Bastas outside where he can slowly nibble on his breakfast at his leisure without the Twin Terrors harassing him for leftovers.

While I fix breakfast, Midna pees. She pees whenever she feels any intense emotion - fear, happiness, anxiety, excitement - so I normally clean up at least a few puddles a day. This is completely normal and not in the least unexpected.

After breakfast, Zelda gets excited and dumps over their completely full water bowl. Okay, I guess I'm going to mop this morning.

While I mop, Bastas sneaks back into the house and pilfers a Butterfinger from my secret stash of Halloween candy (which I was totally not about to eat for breakfast. Don't judge me.) I decide since it's a Fun Size and there's likely not even a smidgen of real chocolate in it that he can just have his ill-gotten gains.

By this time it's 9:30. I stand on the porch with my coffee, listening to The Littles snuffling around in the house for any dropped crumbs, and watching Bastas the Klepto devour a Butterfinger, wrapper and all. I glance to the side of the back door... Oh. There's the pee. Now where did I put the mop...?

These are my dogs. I wouldn't trade them for the world, but I also wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy.

What a life to choose.